Albert ordered that the paint should be handed to the gentlemen of the jury, that they might compare it with the blue ground of the Prussian Vase. With this it was found, upon comparison, to match exactly.
Albert to the druggist.—“Do you know what became of the paper upon which you say the Jew tried your colours?”
Witness.—“Yes; here it is. I found it under the counter, after the Jew went away, and I kept it to return to him, as I saw there was an account on the other side of the paper, which I imagined he might want. He never happened to call at my shop afterwards, and I forgot that I had such a paper, till you, sir, called upon me about a week ago, to make inquiry on this subject. You desired me to keep the paper carefully, and not to let any one know that it was in my possession, till the day on which the trial of Count Laniska was to come on. I have complied with your request, and here is the paper.”
The paper was handed to the jury; and one of the shades of blue exactly matched that of the ground of the Prussian Vase. Albert now called upon the Jew to produce, once more, the handkerchief with which he had rubbed off the paint. The chain of evidence was now complete, for the blue on the handkerchief was precisely the same as the colours on the paper and on the vase. After the jury had satisfied themselves of this resemblance, Albert begged that they would read what was written upon the paper. The first thing that struck their eyes was the word tyrant frequently repeated, as if by some one who had been practising to write different hands. One of these words was an exact resemblance of the word tyrant on the Prussian Vase; and Albert pointed out a circumstance, which had till now escaped attention, that the letter r, in this word, was made differently from all the ars in the rest of the inscription. The writing of the Count Laniska had, in every other respect, been successfully imitated.
After Albert had shown these things to the jury, he here closed the evidence in favour of the prisoner, observing, that the length of time which the trial had lasted seemed to have somewhat fatigued both the judge and jury; and, knowing that it was now their usual hour of dinner, he prudently forbore to make a long speech upon the evidence which had been laid before them in favour of his friend: he left it to their own understandings to determine the balance of probabilities between the honour of Count Laniska and the honesty of Solomon the Jew.
The judge, in a manner which would have done honour even to the English bench, summed up the evidence on both sides, and gave a distinct and impressive charge to the jury, who, without leaving the court, gave a verdict in favour of the prisoner. Loud acclamations filled the hall. In the midst of these acclamations, the word—“Silence!” was pronounced by that voice which never failed to command instantaneous obedience in Prussia. All eyes turned upon the monarch.
“This court is now dissolved,” said his majesty. “My judgment confirms the verdict of the jury. Count Laniska, I took your sword from you too hastily. Accept of mine in its stead.” And as he pronounced these words, Frederick ungirded his sword, and presented it to the young count. “As for you, sir,” continued the king, addressing himself to Albert, “you want no sword for the defence of your friends. Your arms are superior to ours. Let me engage them in my service; and, trust me, I shall not leave them long unemployed, or unrewarded.”
There was but one person present to whom this speech seemed to give no satisfaction. This person was Solomon the Jew, who stood apart, waiting in black silence to learn his own fate. He was sentenced, not to a year’s imprisonment in the castle of Spandau, but to sweep the streets of Potzdam (including the court in front of Count Laniska’s palace) for a twelvemonth.
After having heard this sentence, which was universally approved of, the spectators began to retire.
The king dined—it is always important to know where great men dine—Frederick the Great dined this day at the Countess Laniska’s, in company with her son, his friend Albert, and the English traveller. After dinner, the king withdrew to attend parade; and it was observed that he wore the Count Laniska’s sword.